


Hurry (It's One More Day Gone)

by dawnperhaps



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnperhaps/pseuds/dawnperhaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer took a lot of things from him in the Cage, but Sam is strong enough to take those things back.  Or maybe he’s just tired of being broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurry (It's One More Day Gone)

“Say the word, Sam,” Gabriel promises for what might be the fifth time, although Sam has been trying not to keep track.  “All you have to do is say ‘stop,’ say  _anything_ -”

“I know,” Sam interrupts, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice.  “I got it.”  He wants to tell him to stop saying because the more he says it, the more wrong this all feels, strange and different than it was before.  And Sam just wants normal and safe, to have some semblance of control back in his life.  Lucifer took a lot of things from him in the Cage, but Sam is strong enough to take those things back.  Or maybe he’s just tired of being broken, and he wants some way to claw out of this hole he’s been stuck in.  If he can do this, it’s another stone to put in front of him, something he can stand on until he can put another one down and eventually have enough to cross the pool of misery he’s been stuck in since this all began.

The bottom line, however, is that this isn’t normal or safe, not anymore, especially if the knot that’s been tying itself in his throat all day is any indication.  And so Sam doesn’t tell Gabriel to stop promising him they can stop at any time.  Because part of Sam – a possibly very large part – needs to hear it.

The bed Gabriel has him on is unbelievably soft, like one of the clouds Sam likes to imagine Gabriel used to sit on in Heaven, even though he knows better.  The sheets are clean and smooth, a sharp contrast to how Sam sees himself, and the beams above him are mahogany and hold up a large, diaphanous canopy; it’s the epitome of luxury and comfort, really.  It’s not Gabriel’s preferred hideout, but it fits the circumstances.

Gabriel snaps his own clothes away before removing Sam’s and then kisses him for what feels like hours, worshipping every inch of skin he reveals as he slowly pulls Sam’s clothing off with his lips and fingers, tracing all the scars until Sam momentarily forgets the painful memories behind them.  Gabriel seems so in tune to his body, anticipating certain reactions and avoiding certain gestures like it’s second nature, like he’d always touched him that way.  Sam asked the archangel not to read his mind, but he isn’t sure Gabriel listened to him, and maybe he’s glad he didn’t.

“Breathe, Sammy,” Gabriel says at some point, gently, sounding more divine than he normally does, his eyes soft but not concerned, not yet.  Sam hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath, but he inhales sharply when Gabriel mentions it and Gabriel kisses the corner of his mouth as if to reward him for it.

The weight between his legs makes him suck in air a little more quickly, but Gabriel slants their mouths together and lets Sam take the lead, smiling against the kiss when Sam’s hands wander into his hair.  Sam doesn’t really feel that bold, but he wants to and he hopes that his thoughts will follow his actions.  He’s caught in between the conflicting need for familiarity and the fact that everything has changed, the desire to be strong and overcome and the instinct to turn tail and run.

He would give anything to be able to do this.  Not for Gabriel, but for himself.  Gabriel doesn’t need this; he does.  He needs the evidence that he’s better.  He needs to conquer the memories preventing him from living and loving as he normally might.  He needs to take back his control from Lucifer, to undo the effects of the Cage and his rape – he hasn’t been able to say the word out loud, nor has Gabriel, but that’s what it was and they both know it – and just be alive again.  But Gabriel’s fingers against his entrance have every muscle in his body seizing.  He tries to fight off the fire licking at the edges of his vision, tries to focus on Gabriel and the fact that this is love between them, not power or violence.  But Castiel just took away the hallucinations and insomnia; he could never take away the memories or the acts themselves, and Sam’s throat closes.  Gabriel’s lips are sweet and warm against his neck, but it’s not enough.  And oh God, what if it’s never enough?

“I can’t.”

Sam barely registers the fact that it’s his voice, broken and thick with exhausted horror.  He doesn’t want to believe that he’s capable of sounding that weak, that destroyed, but then he feels hot, angry tears on his face and Gabriel’s wings are out in a quick flash of gold light, cocooning him while the angel murmurs comfortingly against his cheek.  Gabriel shifts almost imperceptibly, gracefully moving to straddle Sam’s waist and let the hunter press his legs together, the tips of his wings brushing against Sam’s calves.  They’re dressed again with a wave of Gabriel’s hand and Sam hates the sense of relief that floods him.  Soft, chaste kisses are pressed against his eyelids and his tightened jaw while Gabriel’s thumbs smooth away the tears.  It’s then he realizes that not only was that his voice, but he’s still talking, muttering half-terrified nonsense in response to Gabriel’s quiet ‘you’re okay’s and ‘you’re safe, I’m right here’s.

When Sam manages to open his eyes again, he’s met with Gabriel’s burning golden irises.  The archangel is obviously furious, his eyes the very picture of vengeance and wrath, not unlike the Trickster’s used to be, but without any sort of playful edge.  Sam isn’t completely delusional; he knows that anger isn’t directed at him.  Gabriel could probably spend every night under Sam without any complaints.  The fact that Sam can’t do this isn’t a source of frustration to him.  Sam isn’t even sure he hates Lucifer as much as Gabriel does, although that might be because he just doesn’t have the energy anymore.

“I hope Michael tears his wings off down there,” Gabriel growls into the crook of Sam’s neck, and it’s the first time Sam’s ever heard him encouraging violence between his siblings.  He’s not really talking to Sam, but Sam shudders anyway, his shoulders hunching defensively.

“Don’t,” he pleads, reaching a hand out to bring one of Gabriel’s wings closer, like a five-year old scrambling for a safety blanket, only this safety blanket presses closer to him on its own accord.  “Don’t do that, I don’t want that, I-”

“Okay,” Gabriel interrupts, his lips forming the words against Sam’s temple.  “I’m sorry.  No more, alright?”

Gabriel tips them onto their sides and tucks Sam’s head under his chin, humming something that Sam thinks he might have heard in a church once, when he used to ask God for simple things like patience, wisdom, and the health of his family.  He can barely remember the boy who would kneel in a pew and pray like it was that easy, like it might do any good.  His breath hitches and Gabriel takes those thoughts away, moving his fingers through Sam’s hair.  He lets Sam press his forehead to his collarbone and just be still and regain control over his senses.

“God  _damn_  it,” Sam hisses when he’s finally caught his breath, turning his face into his pillow.  He’s tired, so tired, and he thinks he hates no one more than he hates himself, for not being stronger, for not making the kinds of decisions that never would have led him here in the first place.  He smacks his fist into his thigh before Gabriel manages to catch his wrist.

“It’s okay, Sam,” the angel promises, bringing Sam’s hand to his mouth to kiss his knuckles.  “Hey, look at me, kiddo.  It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Sam argues, although Gabriel’s calm gaze steadies him, taking the edge out of his voice.  “It’s  _not_  okay.  I thought I could.  I was so fucking sure.”

“We’ll try again.  If you want to.”  Gabriel squeezes his hand, pulling his fist apart and coaxing him to relax, but Sam just shakes his head.

“I was sure,” he says again, quieter, confused.

“We’ll get there,” Gabriel swears, his gaze so intense that Sam believes him for half a second.  “ _You’ll_  get there.  You’re strong, Sam.  I know you don’t feel it, but I do.”  He taps his temple with a crooked little smile, and even though Sam can’t return it, it helps.  “I’ve seen every inch of that soul of yours.  You’re so, so strong.”

Sam doesn’t feel it.  He’s not sure he’s capable of feeling it.  But in that moment, Gabriel seems to feel it enough for the both of him and Sam lets himself be held by that belief and by Gabriel’s arms.  It isn’t forgiveness and it isn’t forgetting, but it’s rest.  It’s peace.  And it’s enough for now.

 


End file.
